Eight springs, eight summers, eight falls, and almost eight winters had gone by. Just about eight years since the day I left Rosaria in search of better things.
Much of those eight years had been spent traveling to different lands, new and old, and places across the sea. Places much of our people, Dalmascans, Archadians, and Rosarians, had not seen. What tied our Ivalice together, made us one, was how we all suffered and prospered from the changes our world had experienced. Many cities had fallen, towns erased, but new ones were built upon the ashes, and lives sprouted new roots. Ivalice had entered a period of calm rebirth and exploration.
Society had been restarted, and everyone had been given a second chance. Not one person was about to pass that redemption up.
Eight years, seven and a half of those years, I had spent wandering around and finding my own peace of mind. But as of recent, I came back to settle down for a while in the place where the Phon Coast once had been. Much of that old land was now below the sea, but people had rebuilt the town that once had watched the ocean.
The air was frosty, snow newly fallen. Large pine trees held up with great arms tons of snow which would tumble to the ground when a large gust of arctic wind rushed passed. It was one of those frostbitten days where the breath you drew and released could be seen for miles. This winter was a hard one for the Phon Coast, but it's villagers were the hardy sort.
I had taken a job in an inn beside a small wood, nestled away from the rest of town. It was modest and humble, made of wood and smelled of freshly cut trees. The lights coming from each window would blink and invite the chilled townspeople in for a drink or two and maybe a warm piece of scone.
I worked in the kitchens, cleaning pots, a little bit of cooking here and there, and would prepare the fires in people's rooms and the main lobby. The work was tedious, but the pay was well enough.
Right now I had busied myself in a pot, meticulously trying to scrub away the caked on grim of melted cheese. My hands worked tirelessly at it, and occasionally I would raise the pot and pick at the grime, brow furrowed as I sank into thought.
"Fiddy!" Came a pleasant voice from the door. I look up to see my coworker, a young blonde girl who's about 19 or so. She stuck her head into the kitchen, cheeks rosy from the nipping wind outside. "Fiddy, Miss Finch needs you to go fetch up some wood. You might need to chop a bit." She says, a little nervously. It, after all, was frightfully cold out there.
"How much wood?" I say while removing myself from the pot and taking off the apron from around my waist.
"At least two good arm fulls Finch says." The young girl steps into the kitchen and ties an apron around her neck. "I'll take over while you fetch the wood."
"Much appreciated." I smile and move to pick up my woolen shawl and gloves by the back door.
"Wait, Fiddy," she calls to me, "careful out there. And I don't just mean the cold. Townspeople say a pirate sailed in last night during the storm. Or so they think a pirate. What one would want with our little town, don't ask me. But watch your back, and take the bigger hatchet just in case."
"Thanks for the warning. I'll watch out." I stoop down to pick the up the heaviest and the biggest hatchet.
"And don't freeze!" She shouts as I step out into the cold, the back door swinging back and forth behind me. Instantly I can feel my legs begin to shake with cold, nose turning a tomato red. It is then I am glad that I let my hair grow out. I don't have a hat, but my hair keeps my ears relatively warm.
Towards the edge of the wood is the chopping block, and next to it is a well stacked pile of uncut wood.
I put the small ax by the stump for cutting wood and pick up a few small logs, making a tiny pile by the block. After my first wooden victim is ready, I swing down with the hatchet, and the log splits clean in two. I put on another log, and proceed to whack the wood into fire burning pieces.
Then softly, suddenly, from behind I hear crunching in the snow. Wham. I cut another log. The crunching grows louder, coming from about maybe fifteen feet behind me. Crack. Another log falls to the snow. I just hope it isn't too wet to burn.
I hesitate before swinging again, listening to the approaching person slowly trekking through the nine inches of well packed snow. But there was something different about this person. Something that spoke of pride and duty. Something that had a meaning to it, unlike most of the people here who lumbered through the snow from one odd job to the next. This person hesitated, but not in the way one would expect. All of this was determined by just the way they approached me from behind, and yet said no greeting.
I did not turn around, just stuck the hatchet in the stump and waited. The crunching stopped about seven or eight feet away from me. For the longest time, nothing was said. Only the wind spoke, and that was in harsh tones not fit for the aura building. I heard my approacher take one more step, and then they spoke.
"I heard what you said that day," he starts, "but I did not know it would be our last meeting for the next eight years. And now I rather regret not answering you."
"What exactly do you regret not answering too?" I ask. "I said many things, and whether you responded or not made no difference to me."
The man sighs. "What I responded to did not matter, does not matter, to me either. But I still think it wise to maybe have said something, being it our last meeting after all."
"You didn't know that."
"Alas, I had some hunch. But I went where the sky led me. You did the same I have learned." The pirate spoke in a much different way than that I had remembered. His voice was tired, worn, and held much of the same thought as mine own did. But it was clear that eight years had refined Balthier.
"I did indeed." I confirm, now turning to face him. His face was worn down, still the same clever expression as always, but he had aged a little, face set in a resolve none but he would understand. "And I came back."
"So it seems." He inclines his head but a little. "Fidel, not saying something to you before you left was a mistake. I have no intention of denying it." He says frankly. "But it was not words of encouragement that I wanted to say. Nothing of the sort. For the last eight years I have been looking for exactly what I wanted to say, and now I have found it."
"I'm listening." We look at one another for a few moments, and he takes another steady step forward, snow cascading from his boots.
"It was foolish to continue this lie. I do not think I could have kept it up any longer." I watched as his breath floated up into the canopy above. "I did care about you Fidel, more than I let on. Understand, I was and am foolish for continuing the facade for this long." He offers his hand out to me. "Will you take it?" He asks.
A small and bitter smile creeps onto my lips. Slowly, sadly, softly, I shake my head, looking at him with remorse. "You have come eight years too late I am afraid. My heart has waned like the ever changing moon. Your hand is better spent on a woman who can give you hers."
The silence that fell like the gently sweeping snow could not and can never be expressed by words. Bitter it was, but it was stronger than bitter. And the sweetness was of a kinder type.
Balthier's hand slowly lowered itself.
"Somehow," he said, looking to the skies above wistfully, "I knew this would be my answer." He nodded a few times. It began to snow again. "I apologize for troubling you with this puny matter." He glanced back at me with his pirate smile, clever and cunning. "I will not bother you again. Farewell, Fidel." With that he turned away.
I put my back to him and took up the hatchet once more, knowing he would be as good as his word. This was a treasure neither of us were meant to have.
Intwilight : Well so ends the series. This is my original ending that was published on Quizilla, but many people have expressed a desire for a happier ending. I have toyed with the idea of writing a new ending, or at least adding more stuff to the end of this one to make it more sentimental. I like the sadder ending, it's different and fits Fidel (her redemption after her mistakes), but I might write up or change this version. It's just hard to get back into the frame of mind after so many months have gone by. But I might try :-) Anyway, Adieu!